


the sky above me, like a full recovery

by SadieFlood



Category: In Plain Sight (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28148073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadieFlood/pseuds/SadieFlood
Summary: Mary's looking forward to spending Christmas alone.She should have known it couldn't be that easy.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	the sky above me, like a full recovery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akamarykate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamarykate/gifts).



"I'm surprised," Marshall says, and she knows he means _worried_. "You're not foaming at the mouth about how yet another errant witness is ruining a holiday you didn't want to celebrate in the first place. What gives?"

"Nice image." He's not always right, but it happens just often enough to be slightly infuriating. Mary _should_ be pissed off that Marshall's witness, a generally recalcitrant young woman she's met approximately three times, chose the week before Christmas to pull a disappearing act, leaving an empty apartment and a cryptic note behind. Any other time, she _would_ be winding up into a rant on the subject of wild goose chases. She hates wild geese.

But she's not.

"Earth to Mary," he says, taking his eyes off the road just long enough to make sure her presumably bottled-up rage hasn't escalated into catatonia.

She sighs. "It's just, how many times does the universe have to kick me in the head until I get the message?"

"Several, in my experience, although I'm not sure 'the 'universe' has much to say on the subject."

She bites back her first response and settles for leveling a glare in his direction.

"Never mind," he says. "What's the message?"

"I don't know. Probably something about not trying to help people who don't want it."

He makes a skeptical noise.

"Something you want to share with the class?"

"Come on, that's our actual job, at which you're reasonably competent. How about... if you love something, set it free?"

Mary wrinkles her nose. "I don't think there's any love involved here. She's _your_ witness."

"I was thinking more of your home situation," he says carefully.

"My house is empty," she points out. Jinx is purportedly on a cruise ship somewhere, singing for her supper, and Brandi is off with her latest conquest. "I was looking forward to a quiet holiday without the usual histrionics. But here I am, chasing yet another person who doesn't want my help. Or yours."

"At least it's a change of scenery."

She snorts. After receiving a tip from local law enforcement (via her favorite occasionally cooperative detective) about the location of Marshall's runaway witness, they've managed to spend a mind-numbing amount of time traveling from one desert to another, the monotony occasionally interrupted by stops for food and gas. "Barely."

She should have known better.

"You're joking, right?" Thus begins a 30-minute lecture on the myriad of differences between New Mexico and Death Valley.

She couldn't be less interested in the topic, but Marshall's voice is sort of soothing, fading into the background as she watches the landscape flatten around them. It doesn't remind her much of home after all.

Who knows? Maybe he's right again.

A change of scenery could be nice.

**

The trip turns out to be a bust.

The witness is nowhere to be found. Dershowitz calls with another tip: she was spotted a few miles from the Canadian border.

It's stupid, and a weird way to quit the program, but at least she hasn't been kidnapped and she's not dead.

"I don't condone it," Marshall says from his twin bed, "but I guess I can understand the urge to disappear."

"Why not just quit the program? Plenty of other idiots have done it." She tries not to think about the last time the scratchy bedspread on her own bed was washed.

"Well, people get sad around the holidays. She was completely alone, no family around, not a lot of friends..." He trails off and coughs a little to cover it. "Seems like she's trying to get away from her old life _and_ the one we gave her."

Mary regards him curiously.

He pretends not to notice, as he flips through the 13 available cable channels over and over again. Probably looking for Star Trek or C-Span.

"I guess this sucks for you, too," she says. "You probably had some exciting plans for tonight, and here we are, in a cheap motel in the middle of nowhere. I'd take a shower, but I'm worried about what might crawl out of the drain."

He turns his attention back to her. "What kind of exciting plans do you think I had?"

"Well, I'm thinking a rousing fire, you in a cable-knit sweater, singing carols, roasting chestnuts. Drinking eggnog. Partying like it's 1899. You know, the whole nine yards."

"You pictured me in a cable-knit sweater," he repeats slowly.

"Cream-colored, so you can really see the stitches."

" _Only_ a sweater? I can't help but feel a little violated."

"Just a little?" She reaches across the extremely small space between their beds and pats his hand, the one that's not glued to the remote. "Relax, Poindexter, there were some suitably dorky pajama pants involved."

"That does sound nice," he muses. "I could take or leave the chestnuts and I won't subject you to carol singing, but eggnog would be pretty nice about now."

She mimes throwing up.

"Have you ever tried it?"

"Uh, no, just knowing what's in it is good enough for me."

Marshall sits up. "You're kidding, right?"

Oh, boy.

But instead of another lecture about the history of disgusting beverages, he vows to find some eggnog that'll turn her into a convert. (Where? The questionable-looking liquor store next door to the motel, or the market 20 miles away?)

"This isn't an elaborate attempt to ditch me, is it?" She leans against the doorframe, watching as he practically skips to the car.

He turns to look at her and smiles. "I guess you'll find out."

The prospect of being alone in that room, thinking about the life choices that brought her to this point, is not appealing. Instead she closes the door behind her and surveys the almost-empty parking lot.

The sky is pitch black, dense with stars. She stands still, feeling the cold against her skin; it's bracing, at least for the moment. She's struck, suddenly, by how small and insignificant her body, her grievances, her concerns, her entire _life_ are compared to the silent expanse surrounding her.

Oh.

So that's it.

"Okay, fine," she mutters, in case the universe, or whoever, is listening. Out here, it kind of seems like a possibility. "I get the message. Feel free to stop kicking me."

Marshall returns, triumphantly bearing eggnog.

She casts her eyes skyward. "Any second now."

**

On the ride home, Marshall is quieter than usual.

No soliloquies about the Great American West, or trains, or Star Trek, or time travel.

It's possible that late-night liquor-store eggnog didn't agree with him. "What's eating you?"

"Nothing, really."

"'Nothing.'" She makes a face. "Like you wouldn't badger me to death if I tried that."

"I've just been thinking about those plans you imagined for me, the caroling and chestnuts and whatnot. It sounded nice."

"And," she prods.

"I'm, well, I'm one of those people who get a little sad around the holidays." He glances at her.

"Completely alone, no friends," she says. "I thought you were talking about _me_."

"Oh, I was."

She considers it. "Every year in recent memory, I've had to spend every holiday managing crises and handling everyone else's problems. And that's just at home. I have literally no idea what I think about the holidays as an adult, without all that going on," she says. "But aside from the crappy accommodations, this hasn't been so bad."

"No," he says. "Not so bad."

"Hey, maybe it's a new tradition."

"God, I hope not."

**

"Hey, Marshall," she says, when they hit Albuquerque.

"Yes?"

"You want to come over later, watch a movie or something? I've got an empty house and a refrigerator full of beer and leftover pizza."

"How old?"

She tries to do the math. "Four days? Tops?"

He pretends to think about it. "I guess it could be worse."

"That's the spirit," she says.

"Who picks the movie?"

She's about to tell him that's a particularly dumb question, but she supposes she can be magnanimous just this once. _Tis the season_ and so forth. "Fine. Just try not to bring something that's going to put me to sleep. Or if you're going to get offended by my commentary."

"You're in a weirdly good mood, considering we just concluded a wild goose chase." He pulls up in front of her house. "You hate wild geese and the resulting paperwork."

She shrugs. "I'm not filing any paperwork today."

"Want me to bring anything, besides a riveting film that will shock you into silence?"

"Just your cable-knit sweater," she says, getting out of the car.

"Naturally. And my dorky pajama pants?"

"Optional." She doesn't have to look back to know he's blushing, just a little, as he drives off.

She heads into her quiet, clean house and wonders, idly, how Jinx is doing, whether Brandi's all right.

Force of habit.

She also wonders about Marshall's witness, striking out on her own, aware of the danger but apparently too stubborn to care. 

Might be a lesson there, too.

But that one can wait for another holiday. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Liz Phair song "What Makes You Happy."


End file.
